deepkickgirlhttps://deepkickgirl.com
I write about food. I write about family. I write about popular culture. I write.Sun, 18 Mar 2018 18:15:20 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://secure.gravatar.com/blavatar/1ce1a2438fe0a3fdf4b53a140200da1c?s=96&d=https%3A%2F%2Fs2.wp.com%2Fi%2Fbuttonw-com.pngdeepkickgirlhttps://deepkickgirl.com
The Big Lhttps://deepkickgirl.com/2018/03/15/the-big-l/
https://deepkickgirl.com/2018/03/15/the-big-l/#commentsThu, 15 Mar 2018 02:04:40 +0000http://deepkickgirl.com/?p=454So it’s your Clayton’s blogger here… the blogger you have when you’re not having a blogger. I’m shit at the blogging caper, let’s agree on that and move on.

To what do you owe this honour of being blogged at by yours truly? Well, a milestone birthday, if you must ask. DKG is turning FIFTY. Half a century. Yes the BIG L.

If that doesn’t deserve a blost (that’s a word I just made up to signify a blog post…royalties via my agent, many thanks) I don’t know what does.

You might think a blost might mean I have something to say, that this milestone birthday has brought about an epiphany, some sort of unlocking of the meaning of life. Alas no.

Life is steady, life is good and there’s very little of any interest to report. I continue to thrash around in my little life; craving peace and excitement in equal measure. My emotional range rides the pendulum between sadness, frustration, anger (I am easily angered and frustrated as those nearest and dearest will attest) and joy, anticipation, lust for life.

Frank Turner has a newish tattoo which says “Everything is not enough” and I’m coveting it because I often feel that way. No matter how busy I am I feel it’s not enough; I should be squeezing in more, seeing more, doing more, experiencing MORE.

But those feelings are counterbalanced by a need to do less, to rest, to peace out. Mostly an inner equilibrium is achieved but at times the two inner beasts wrestle…wearing mankinis in a giant pool of grape jelly (which we all know is the shitest jelly).

Where was I? Oh yes, waffling. Do I know more at 50 than I did at 20? Undoubtedly but I know it will less confidence. The more I know the less I understand and the less weight I give anything.

This quote always settles me, resonates with me, fills me with calm. We are so ridiculous, us humans, so self important and yet so pointless and little more than tiny fires which burn brightly but briefly and are forgotten.

I don’t believe I’ve gotten any wiser. Only that I’m becoming a little more detached which probably comes across as caring less but I care a lot, I’m overwhelmed by caring and equally by the futility of caring. So I semi-consciously step back, wrap myself in a self protective coat of disdain. Act cool, knowing I’m anything but.

So on the eve of my 51st spin around the sun I am as happy and satisfied as a human can be. A weird and wonderful family who have my back despite the various shit we’ve put each other through over the years; people of amazing strength and character. Kids who continue to survive my dubious parenting style and bring me crazy, love and joy in equal measure. Friends without whom I couldn’t survive and who bring me truth, fun and a reflective surface in which to preen and reflect on a daily basis. A man who takes my shit while having none of it, a rare and wonderful creature indeed.

Life goes on and life is good. If it ends tomorrow I have been a very lucky chick and have not a single true regret. I’m aware that the sands in my hour glass are getting bottom heavy but each grain of sand represents days and years lived to the fullest. Who can ask for more?

…because I believe in marriage. Marriage is a lovely, romantic idea. It really is and I used to believe in it. But unlike Elizabeth Taylor, the romantic glow has worn off after two marriages where husband 1 and husband 2 walked out without any prior warning or discussion. I have seen too many marriages fall apart, people turning love into hate, people walking out not only on spouses but children and responsibilities.

I want to believe in a happy-ever-after in the same way I want to believe in unicorns and fairies… it seems like a beautiful idea but the lack of evidence is simply overwhelming. So I have come to believe in happy-right-now. Right now is all we’ve got so carpe diem out of today mofos. Why make promises about tomorrow that you can’t or won’t take seriously? Let’s keep this shit real. There’s no god, there’s no unicorns and the chances that the homo sapien you love today and who appears to love you back will still love you tomorrow are, give or take, in the winning Lotto range of probability.

So I’m not voting YES in the ridonkulous Marriage Plebishite because I want members of the gay community to be able to waste gazillions of dollars on a marriage ceremony/party/whatever-form-of-celebration-involving-overpriced-wedding-paraphernalia they choose. I’m voting YES because I believe in equality. I believe in people not being humiliated and made to feel less-than because of who they are attracted to and where they choose to stick their sexy bits. I believe in people being able to live without judgement (unless it’s judgement of taste – or lack of – in music), without fear – real, actual fear.

I want Marriage Equality to pass and to become the norm and for all those people who are screaming that it’ll mean the end of civilisation and destroy the “sanctity” of marriage *cough *laugh *vomit to eat their stupid words and go back to finding something else to fear. I want to be part of a society where couples of every variety can live in a loving relationship without being shunned by their family or being denied basic human rights.

It is so fucking simple. Get your nose out of people bedrooms and lives. Mind your own bloody business. Let people live as they choose as long as they are not harming others. Don’t judge others by what your imaginary friend in the sky allegedly said *cough *bullshit. Live and let live. Stop being a fucking hypocrite.

So The Good Girl and I have set each other a blogging challenge to blog every week and this week, Week 1, is catch up week as we’ve both been very naughty little non-bloggers.

Anyhoo… I’ve been busy doing weird, fucked up relationship shit. Breaking up, getting back together, moving in together, breaking up. In summary the Joker and I have left no stone unturned in our quest to prove that love is not enough to sustain a relationship.

We’ve proven beyond reasonable doubt that a mutual love of Frank Turner, doughnuts and dark humour isn’t enough to sustain a workable, live-in relationship between two broken, fucked up middle aged people with a Mack truck full of baggage. At least it wasn’t enough for us.

All the pretty words and good intentions count for bugger all when after a short while your love emotionally vacates the metaphorical premises and you’re left wondering what the fuck happened, twisting yourself into a pretzel to fit the uncomfortable and unreadable parameters of your situation. Bottom line: you’re back being lonely in your (now live-in) relationship and reading the tea leaves for how it came to this. In my case this turns love into self loathing. Why aren’t I good enough??!! Why can’t I fix this?

So it’s over and it was hard but this time at least I feel that it’s 200% done and dusted. There are no doubts that for the Joker and I love was not enough. I’ll let Jeff Buckley have the final word: “It’s never over, (he’s) the tear that hangs inside my soul forever”. Except it is most certainly over.

Onwards. A couple of weeks after the END Miss M and I left for our much anticipated girls’ trip to Medellin, Colombia and NYC. It was just what the doctor ordered. Travel takes focus, especially when traveling alone with a child.

It was truly wonderful to revisit Miss M’s city of birth. This time it felt like a very different sort of adventure. The city had changed, it was safer and we were able to explore further afield. While the opportunity to meet Miss M’s birthmother did not happen it was still very much a worthwhile trip.

Then onto NYC. While Sydney is my home and my life, NYC is my love. I truly adore that city and yearn for it. I recently listened to an interview with the writer Bill Hayes talking about how he’s never lonely in NYC. I concur. Anthony talks about LA being his companion in “Under The Bridge”, that is how I feel about this city. I can simply walk along any street, at any time, and feel whole and happy and loved.

Of course quality time with my darling sister and BIL was great. We went to Philly for the day which was really fun…mmm, doughnuts…mmm, fried chicken… Where was I? Oh…we saw Tim Minchin’s Groundhog Day on Broadway. Brilliant. Wouldn’t be dead for quids.

On the last night we sat on the roof of our hotel, in the flower district – 28th Street, and listened to a fabulous singer kicking around some cool covers with her little band under the New York sky. A beautiful way to end a wonderful holiday.

I’ve been home a month. Back into work and school stuff and a little volunteering and exploring new possibilities. I never stay still long enough to contemplate things too deeply; at least not on the surface. Like a shark I’m always in motion but underneath the cogs turn and the gears grind and at odd times, like at the Botero Museum in Medellin, the tears come and the familiar punch-in-the-gut feeling visits.

Who knows where things are headed but I have my kids, my family, my friends, Frank Turner and endless Trump memes…to name a few of my favourite things. Life could be much, much worse.

]]>https://deepkickgirl.com/2017/06/01/love-and-the-art-of-self-loathing/feed/3deepkickgirlCh-ch-ch-ch-changes…. (part 2)https://deepkickgirl.com/2015/09/30/ch-ch-ch-ch-changes-part-2/
https://deepkickgirl.com/2015/09/30/ch-ch-ch-ch-changes-part-2/#commentsWed, 30 Sep 2015 03:16:32 +0000http://deepkickgirl.com/?p=407So where was I? Oh yes… bonking the graphic designer. Ha! Sorry… I was starting work as the bookkeeper/office administrator for my dad’s new business. It was 1991. I was young, keen, enthusiastic but sort of aimless. I worked to live, definitely not lived to work.

As the years went by this job kept me secure and anchored through university studies, another relationship (and eventual marriage), trying (and failing) to have children, adopting children, building a house, selling a house, moving into a new house, selling the house, moving into an apartment, getting divorced… not necessarily in chronological order.

Basically this job was my rock, my home away from home, my constant in an ever changing world.

While it may not have tickled my creative spot I am eternally grateful for the privilege of a secure income and flexible employment during all of my major life upheavals. It can not be underestimated how lucky I have been to have fallen into a job which has allowed me to study and raise my kids on a solid foundation.

(May I also say how lucky we all were that this fledgling business with no right to succeed has gone from a turnover of around $100,000 a year and three employees to 16+ employees and a turnover nudging $5 million. Goodness knows we’re all pretty surprised around here.)

But in recent months things have changed and I have taken those changes to mean it is time to uproot. My dad has finally sold his share of the business and semi-retired. An opportunity presented itself earlier this year which, at first, I was dubious about… but then decided to throw myself into it. It seemed that life were nudging me to step out of my safety zone and test myself a little.

This opportunity is still changing in its form but in essence I will be operating a café situated in a beautiful park with an all abilities playground run by the wonderful Touched by Olivia organization. So I will be able to work with food (my love) and with my love (The Comedian) in a social enterprise environment with aims and goals I feel strongly about.

I’m confident of the future though it is still hazy in detail. I have become lazy and complacent after so many years in a safe and stable job I know inside out. But I’m not too old to learn and the part of me that isn’t shit scared is buoyed by the excitement of trying something new, testing myself and changing all the parameters of my life.

As I clean up files, shred old documentation, transfer data files onto a portable hard drive and make notes about what things I need to show my replacement I don’t feel very sad, right now it doesn’t feel that real. I’m sure as my last few days here approach I will feel nostalgic or something close to that but right now my feelings come in waves: fear, excitement, loss, uncertainty, excitement, hope. I’m unsure yet confident that all will turn out as it should.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (Turn and face the strange) Ch-ch-changes Don’t want to be a richer man Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (Turn and face the strange) Ch-ch-changes Just gonna have to be a different man Time may change me But I can’t trace time

(David Bowie “Changes”)

I’ve been at my present job for just short of 25 years. Well and truly over half my life time. It’s hard to get my head around at times. I started my working life as a typesetter. It was an accident really. I had little clue about what I wanted to “do with my life” (as we so grandly seem to say these days) when I left school a few months before my 16th birthday. I knew two things: 1) I wanted to make money and 2) I wanted to leave home. The first was a necessary precursor to the second.

I had been working after school and during school holidays at a child care centre where, at the ripe old age of 14, I would often be left in charge of a room full of toddlers. Because at 14 I actually felt more like an adult than I do now (because ignorance is bliss yo!) I took this completely in my stride and loved it. What I loved best was the money. My very own money that I didn’t have to ask my mum for. I could do whatever I pleased with it and that feeling was bloody intoxicating. Like your average meth head, I was hooked baby.

So the year was 1983 and I was in Year 10 and there was no way in hell I was staying on. I knew the workload that the HSC required didn’t work well with the amount of partying and slacking I was intent on doing. Plus it did not work with my plan of earning money and moving out of home (see above).

Despite the protestations of my parents (who had, after all, travelled around the world and survived countless hardships to provide me with this better life and these opportunities) I was dead set on being a working girl. So my dad lined up some work experience for me at the HCF art department (because what 15 year old girl doesn’t want to do something “arty”?). Of course the art department did not involve any actual art. We produced the brochures, posters and forms required to make a paper addicted 1980s corporation run.

That was fine by me. I did my week’s worth of work experience and fell in love with working in the city. There was nowhere I felt more alive than in the city. I loved working with adults (who strangely seemed to take me seriously), I loved being productive, I loved the hubbub of the city, I loved buying my buttered finger bun at the deli downstairs for morning tea.

The work experience led to me being offered a full time job as a “junior”. Looking back it isn’t impossible that my dad twisted some arms to get me in there. It’s never been expressly stated but as a parent now I wonder…

Anyway, in December 1983 I started full time work. In those days I was keen, eager and ambitious. I learnt the trade of typesetting and finished art quickly and progressed as different technology (cough… what passed for technology in the mid 1980s wouldn’t look out of place in a dinosaur museum today) was introduced. I moved from company to company and enjoyed the people and the challenges… oh, and the money.

Sorry I’m meandering… At the end of 1990 I was working part time at a small design/type agency in Surry Hills and wasn’t really sure what it or I was all about. I was bored and listless. So when my dad told me he was starting an engineering company with his business partner and would I come work for them as a bookkeeper I couldn’t see why not. I knew little about bookkeeping (though I had done an evening touch typing and bookkeeping course during Year 10 – who remembers the Receptionist Centre Girl ads?) and double entry journal keeping was certainly amongst my considerable skill set.

January 1991 I was ensconced in our new offices in Ultimo. It was mostly boring at that stage. Just me, dad and Bob. I was lucky if I put out one invoice a month. I think we turned over about $100,000 that year. Microsoft it wasn’t. But I kept myself busy by making sandwiches for us all for lunch, soldering the occasional batch of circuit boards, getting divorced from husband #1 and bonking the graphic designer who shared our office space.

I was so looking forward to seeing Trainwreck. I’d seen the shorts and it seemed like it may have a different take on the rom-com. It looked like it could show a woman who was slutty, wild and having a shitload of fun…sort of like men are regularly portrayed. I thought Amy Schumer could be the one to do this, take it up a step, take the Hollywood rom-com to where it needed to go.

But no, I was wrong and I was very disappointed. It did what rom-coms do so [cough] well: show a slutty, out of control girl who can only find happiness in the form of a “good” man. I know rom-coms do the reverse as well but I’m kind of sick of it. Is it not time to look at relationships differently? To examine other possibilities for how it could all be done?

I certainly don’t have the answers. I’m old and have grown up to be conditioned for the one man, one woman, eternal love, eternal happiness, blah blah blah, bullshit bullshit. It’s not that I’m a negative nelly or just plain old bitter and twisted (well, a little of both actually). I’m talking about the reality of my own life and the lives of most people I know, I’m talking about the news and social media and Ashley Madison.

Monogamy is a lovely ideal but I have come to believe that serial monogamy is truly the best we can hope for. We have all been socialised to believe monogamy is how the world works and how relationships should work. But it has historic and sociological roots (pardon the pun) related to “ownership” of children, descendants, estates, etc. All the moral stuff is just tied up to the ownership of women, children and real estate. Nothing more, nothing less. Love and romance have just been overlayed onto that bleak reality to make it a prettier, more palatable package.

So as a 47 year old, twice divorced single mother I know there isn’t much hope for me to truly live by a different model. I still yearn for that “my one and only true love” crappola. My logical self wishes it was otherwise because it’s really not got me very far but it’s been hammered into my DNA. I don’t know how to think in a different way.

But I would like for my children to grow up thinking about things in a different way. To value themselves as individuals and not crave the love of another person to validate them. To have sex with as many or as few people as they want to and not feel that makes them a good or a bad person. Just a person.

Getting back to Trainwreck. Having seen some of Amy’s comedy I thought she may have the skill set to take things up a notch on the rom-com. Take the slutty girl and make her the hero. But she did no such thing. She took the slutty girl, shamed the fuck out of her and gifted her with “happiness” in the form of Mr Dullsville. That’s right slutty, drunk girl… clean up your act, douche the old vag and you might be worthy of being Mrs Doctor and have the house in the burbs and the 2.3 kids and the Volvo… because fuck knows there’s no other way of being happy.

I’m not sure if she actually wrote something edgier and it was watered down by the Hollywood powers that be or if she’s really just wanting a piece of the Hollywood pie and beige is good enough. Either way it’s kind of sad and kind of a waste of time.

]]>https://deepkickgirl.com/2015/08/28/why-i-hated-trainwreck-or-time-to-re-write-the-rom-com/feed/1deepkickgirlIMG_7265Mum’s The Wordhttps://deepkickgirl.com/2015/08/14/mums-the-word/
https://deepkickgirl.com/2015/08/14/mums-the-word/#commentsFri, 14 Aug 2015 02:57:09 +0000http://deepkickgirl.com/?p=399This is a whinge of sorts so turn back now if you’re not in the mood. You have been warned.

I worked bloody hard to become a mum. None of this wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am-you’re-up-the-duff business for me. Years of tears, of tests, of hating myself, others, everyone, of hopelessness, of anger, of the usual pointless why-me-not-fair bullshit, then years of putting on the big girl panties and toughening the fuck up and learning to deal with bureaucracies and asshole pen pushers and waiting and waiting and waiting. So much fucking waiting. I’m not good at waiting (surprise!). I’m not good at letting others be in control (surprise!). But that’s been the story of my road to motherhood.

I may have been a more carefree and easy going person before all this but maybe I’m kidding myself. Maybe I’ve been a shithead all along.

Anyway, my babies did come along eventually. Not via the stork or the vag but via South America. They were hard won and loved so very much. They say love is enough but I don’t think it is.

Right now my babies are driving me mental and I feel completely crap because I DO-NOT-KNOW-HOW-TO-DEAL-WITH-IT.

Every day I wake up with a belief that I can do this mothering thing and every day I am proven wrong. The main problem seems to be that my children think a mother is a slave who does every little thing for you, requires you to do absolutely nothing to help yourself or contribute to the household within which you live, pay for and buy for you anything you think you “need” at the exact moment you NEED it and generally act as if your every whim is their only concern.

Undoubtedly I have contributed to this misunderstanding because I just get on and fucking do stuff…I work full time so need to make sure the laundry is done, the dishes are clean, there is food in the fridge and the floors get vacuumed on a reasonably regular basis. I admit that it’s just easier to do it myself than to spend half an hour arguing and cajoling my children to participate in the care of their own environment. They always have a bloody reason as to why they can’t do it: they did it last time (they didn’t), he/she ALWAYS does it and why doesn’t their brother/sister have to do it this time, they are busy and will do it LATER, they are not very good at doing it… the list goes on and on.

So rather than do the Supernanny thing and be consistent and force them (how exactly) to do the small tasks they need (should) to be doing I swear a lot, threaten the destruction of all their valuables and just do the fucking jobs myself. This is not good parenting, I know that… and worse, they know that. They prey on it. They have it down to a fine art form and I am defeated by them day in, day out.

Being a single mum does not give me a satisfactory excuse for this situation. But it does add to my feeling of isolation and unfairness-ness and frustration. I have no back up when the poop starts flying. It’s just me versus the childlings and I am outnumbered and outwitted.

I have realised that all they retain is the negatives. I will say and do 100 positive things a day for and with them but it’s the few negatives I say in anger and desperation that they remember. “Why do you ALWAYS yell at us?”… “Why are you so MEAN?”… “You’re not baking something AGAIN?!”

So I’ve just learnt that like all relationships parenthood is a lot of tears. I came to parenthood through oceans full of tears and my parenthood journey is a lot more tears. It’s not how it looked in the brochures. To be frank I’m fucking sick of tears.

I don’t know why but writing this has made me think of this scene from my favourite movie Say Anything:

Lloyd Dobler: You used to be fun. You used to be warped and twisted and hilarious… and I mean that in the best way – I mean it as a compliment!

]]>https://deepkickgirl.com/2015/08/14/mums-the-word/feed/2deepkickgirlAugusthttps://deepkickgirl.com/2015/07/31/august/
https://deepkickgirl.com/2015/07/31/august/#commentsFri, 31 Jul 2015 03:15:42 +0000http://deepkickgirl.com/?p=396Tomorrow is the start of August. I’m excited about August. There are special things happening.

A day which isn’t meant to mean anything but means a lot to me.

A big birthday for someone very special to me.

August was meant to be the end of something but looks like it won’t be. It’s the month before September and for the past six months or so it’s been SEPTEMBER in my mind. A month of change, a looming month, a pivotal month. But now it’s unlikely September will be that month so I’m refocusing on August and letting September go, setting it free.

It’s amazing how some days seem like a battle, like nothing will ever work out, like nothing is worth the trouble… and other days everything seems so easy, what will be will be, the future’s not ours to see (nod: Doris Day), life is just how it is, nothing more, nothing less.

This time last year I was getting ready for the New York trip with the Joker. My goodness I love New York, it’s my happy place. I yearn for the streets and the light and the smell and the bars and the $1 oyster happy hour, the surprises around each corner, walking, my sister. I want to go again; often I get an attack of NEW YORK. My brain starts to work out the logistics of just going, next week. But I don’t. I’m an adult, of sorts. It hasn’t much to do with August… except I’ve been to New York in August/September two years in a row and my heart is telling me to go.

But instead I’m going to stay right here and jump into August feet first… and see where the road takes me.

I don’t know why I’m wading into these murky waters. I’m quite cranky about the social/media storm that’s swept through this week. Cranky and confused and sad and irritated. WTF is going on here folks? Because I don’t actually know or understand what’s just happened here (unlike all the other commentators, amateur and professional alike, who seem to have very firm opinions on everything) I have a need to just spew out my thoughts and see what they look like.

As a long time Sydney Swans supporter and member I have watched just about every single one of Adam Goodes’ professional games since he joined my Swannies in 1999. He’s one of a rare breed of professional sportspeople these days – the one team player – and I have a warm place in my cold heart for him because of this and many other reasons. To cut a long story short, he’s a top bloke.

But the storm around him is about the booing. Since he called out the teenage girl for referring to him as an “ape” opposition supporters have started the unfortunate spectacle of booing him whenever he touches the ball. Now this has been going on for a while but this week it has exploded into a shit fight and I’m not sure why. While there have been murmurs of “racism” it has now become a full blown, all-in brawl. The media heavyweights are into it, the social media nobodies are into it, everyone has an opinion and yet I’m stuck wondering what it’s all about.

Are the AFL supporters booing Adam Goodes racist? I don’t know. They don’t boo the other aboriginal players or players from other racial backgrounds. Is it true that they are booing him because he milks the umpires for penalties (as some are claiming)? If that’s true why aren’t these supporters booing the many other players who also do this? Are they booing him because he is a previous Australian of the Year and as such a “tall poppy” and in need of some cutting down? Again, he became Australian of the Year at the beginning of 2014 and the booing started just a few months ago.

I don’t really understand this phenomenon of booing Goodsey because all the reasons being put forward do not make sense. I suspect the people booing him do not understand themselves why they’re doing it. Therefore they are dickheads.

I’m kind of cranky that there is, as always, a call out for “someone” to do “something”. I’m a bit unclear as to what that “something” that “someone” should be doing is. Possibly the AFL could be chucking out the boo-ers from games and I see some merit in this argument. It would probably only take a few exited offenders to make it stop. But do we want booing stopped altogether? I say not. I love a good boo at a game. Nothing filled me with joy more than booing Jason Akermanis back in the day. Why? I don’t know… he was just such a great villain. Was it stupid? Sure. Is a bunch of grown men in short shorts chasing a ball around a field for 2 hours while a bunch of people drinking overpriced beer shout and cheer and swear stupid? Sure.

I don’t want booing stopped. What if they stop cheering? What if we’re offending the people not being cheered by our one sided cheering? Where does it end? What if they stopped me making lascivious comments about the players I may want to um, do inappropriate cougar-y type things with? I think I stand for people being able to say stupid things at the footy (is that enough of a platform to start a political party?). That doesn’t mean I want people to boo Adam Goodes…

Where does all this leave us? Buggered if I know. We have a bunch of morons booing a terrific footy player and an all round great man for reasons unfathomable to themselves as much as to the general public. We now have a social shit fight with lots of heated rhetoric which amounts to a big fat nothing at the end of the day.

Unfortunately this is not something, like gay marriage or medical cannabis, which can be legislated. You can’t legislate against stupid.

All I know is Adam has had a wonderful career at the Swans, as an AFL player with two Brownlow Medals, as an indigenous man trying to make things better for his people and all Australians. He deserves better than this. I sincerely hope he doesn’t leave the game at this time feeling defeated because he’s much bigger and better than this.

]]>https://deepkickgirl.com/2015/07/30/goodsey/feed/1deepkickgirlimages agPop Uphttps://deepkickgirl.com/2015/07/29/pop-up/
https://deepkickgirl.com/2015/07/29/pop-up/#respondWed, 29 Jul 2015 02:51:11 +0000http://deepkickgirl.com/?p=390This blog is badly neglected. I don’t know why. Well I do: mainly laziness and an “I’ll get around to it” attitude. I think about it often, every day just about. I read other blogs and I intend to visit mine. Regularly I have an idea for a blog post that feels so very important at that time, it just about writes itself in my mind instantly… usually when I’m driving or pushing the trolley around Coles or doing one of a gazillion other things. But when I’m actually near a computer all inspiration evaporates and I lazily spend my time reading others’ writing or mindlessly scrolling Facebook. Bad habits: I’m completely made up of them.

There is a lot of stuff swirling around me right now. Almost every aspect of my life has either undergone changes or is about to undergo changes and yet I can’t write about most of it. Some is personal, some is temporarily secret, some is hard to grasp and wrangle into submission with a couple of hundred words in a blog post.

I want to process my life and thoughts through my writing but I am overwhelmed by too much and not enough.

By no means is this a whingey post. I didn’t pop up to whine about anything. Life is pretty fucking marvellous really. Wouldn’t be dead for quids. I guess I’m just trying to put into words where I’m at right now. Somewhere and nowhere, like everybody else.

I’ll leave you with my go to song of the moment. You know I’ve been having a very public, very annoying yet totally beautiful love affair with Mr Frank Turner for the last two years and this song has been my almost daily mantra for the past few weeks. I’m all about the lyrics and this song says everything I need to remember right now.

If Ever I Stray

Forgive me someone, for I have sinned
And I know not where I should begin
Some days it feels like you just can’t win
No matter what you do or say.

Things didn’t kill me but I don’t feel stronger
Life is short but it feels much longer
You’ve lost that drive, you’ve lost that hunger
To pull yourself through the day.

But if ever I stray from the path I follow
Take me down to the English Channel
Throw me in where the water is shallow
And then drag me on back to shore!

‘Cos love is free and life is cheap
As long as I’ve got me a place to sleep
Clothes on my back and some food to eat
I can’t ask for anything more

Come on everybody sing it 1, 2, 3, 4

We’ve all got secrets that we hold inside
The worst little things that we try and defy
The worst one of all that you never can hide
Is that you’re never quite as strong as you sound

So I’m sorry baby, for the times I’ve hurt you
Sorry friends, for the times I desert you
Most days it feels like I don’t deserve you
No wonder that you’re all still around

But if ever I stray from the path I follow
Take me down to the English Channel
Throw me in where the water is shallow
And then drag me on back to shore!

‘Cos love is free and life is cheap
As long as I’ve got me a place to sleep
Clothes on my back and some food to eat
I can’t ask for anything more

Come on everybody sing it 1, 2, 3, 4

Come on and join me in the water
Swim for hope
Sometimes it’s hard to remember
I couldn’t do this on my own

If ever I stray from the path I follow
Take me down to the English Channel
Throw me in where the water is shallow
And then drag me on back to shore!

‘Cos love is free and life is cheap
As long as I’ve got me a place to sleep
Clothes on my back and some food to eat
I can’t ask for anything more

I can’t ask for anything more

The path I chose isn’t straight and narrow
It wanders ’round like a drunken fellow
Some days it’s hard for me to follow
But if you’ve got my back I’ll go on.
If you’ve got my back I’ll go on.